The Straight Line
by Asharza
Summary: She really should consider following it one of these days. It was supposed to be easier. Written for POW12's Winter Olympics #4
1. Insignificant

**Disclaimer: **I don't own PJO and never will.

**Warning: **A bit of cursing, it is Clarisse after all.

**#1**

**Insignificant**

**Chapter Summary: **If nothing else, she can protect her conscience.

(*(*(*(*)*)*)*)

What was she doing? This was practically Pandora's Box, hell, the door might as well have a huge sign on the front, supporting big bold blaring letters that said, "_Don't open, just turn around and let universe get back on track." _

Because, that _would_ be the easy thing, 'easy thing' being the 'straight line', the straight line was comfortable, no vertical, and no horizontal. No maze. You knew who you were and what you were doing.

Truth be told she hated the straight line. What was life without living on the edge? Who are you if all you do is follow the rules of the world?

She was exhausted, not the physical, eye-droopy, can-barely-stand-on-her-feet kind. It was the emotional, can't-take-anymore-angst type, the stuff the burrows into her very core and makes her want to shut down from the world for a moment and _breathe_. And _nobody_ can blame her for that, because she's seen enough bull to last her a lifetime.

But that not her, she's Clarisse La Rue, the strongest girl in camp, she can take any punches that are thrown her way and deal them back ten times harder, both literally and figuratively.

But hey, crap happens. Clarisse wasn't the type of girl that shuts down just because a few bad things have happened. Not that she wants anyone to cut her slack. Just like the old saying goes, 'can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen,' or something like that.

Fortunately, she was born to handle the heat. Hell, she was born to handle a whole friggin' volcano.

So why?

Why does she insist on taking the maze?

"The maze" right now was a very bright room with a harsh layer of sunlight filtering through an open window. Clarisse supposes this should be comforting, the soft light was meant to fill you with warmth. Then again, Clarisse supposes the sorted vase of freshly picked and trimmed flowers in the corner was meant to be calming, filled with love and promise. To be honest Clarisse hated roses . . . she made a point to stay as far away from them as possible after she heard the rumor that if a rose was picked, or given to a person out of love, a daughter of Aphrodite would shriek to the world a soulful melody, filled with passion, accented with birds screeching for mercy. (You know, something a brainless bimbo would sing)

Her boots almost felt like granite as she left the door behind her, and moved towards her destination across the room.

Her barely-there fingernails tapped against the cold end of the bed relentlessly, as an intense bundle of nerves sent shivers down her spine. She hated to admit it, but it was rather harsh seeing her _mother _like this. Not painful, just . . . different. She was used to a light and airy figure, mindless of the world and what it holds. If she wasn't positive this was the right room she would never have recognized the gaunt blonde woman in the room.

And she knows what her mom is_ supposed_ to mean to her, love, protection, someone she could trust with all her life, the person who knows her better than she knows herself. There should be a voice in her head prompting her with fond memories, causing her to cry her eyes out in misery, but there is just dead silence. Just the soft whooshing sound coming from the oxygen tank in the corner.

Clarisse wasn't much of a thinker, not that she was dumb or anything - but she always relied on her ability to come up with something to say the moment she was supposed to say it. And there was so much she _should _say, yell at her mom for being an awful mother was the first to come to mind. Well, not awful, just extremely ditsy.

Clarisse was basically the result of two drunken hormonal teenagers. In her mother's case that was very true - her dad just acted like one.

Her mom was stupid - not dumb-stupid, just careless, and that was pretty much a fact. Clarisse wasn't even sure of her mother's history. All Clarisse knew was she ran away when she realized she was pregnant because she was to terrified to admit _anything_ to _anyone_. Let alone that she got knocked up by the God of War. Pfft, coward.

So Clarisse was raised on microwave meals, and sushi. She didn't even realize anything was different about her life until she finally went to school, and the principle told her Slim Fast was not an acceptable lunch for a Kindergartner.

Alright, maybe her mom was a clueless, and sucky parent. Clarisse didn't really mind, they had a good relationship going. Her mom had an alright, albeit dead-end job, and Clarisse never felt particularly neglected, aside from a few incidents where she needed new clothes, or her mom forgot to feed her that night.

There were a lot of times Clarisse wondered who she even was in her mother's eyes. She knew her mother always wanted a little dress up buddy, someone to put make-up on, and brush the hair of. Sure, she used the toy pots and pans set she had received for her fourth birthday as armor, and one of the spatulas as a sword. And maybe she ripped the heads off her Barbie dolls and used them as pretend grenades (_oh, come on, everyone did that at some point or another_) and yes, maybe the pretty little necklaces her mother gave her weren't meant to be whips, or garrotes which strangled the life out of her "evil" teddy bear. . . "Mr. Ripped-head Mc. Evil". . .

Come on, she was a violent kid in general! Who wasn't?

She still dubbed one of the best days of her life as the day her mother's rich boyfriend of the week found her fighting spirit to be adorable and gave her a toy gun.

When she came to Camp Half-Blood for the first time it was amazing: suddenly she had a hot meal three times a day, all the toy (and real!) swords and shields she could handle, fitting clothes whenever she needed them, and more than anything, friends, who were more than willing to roughhouse whenever she wanted, and use her as a human shield during the annual Camp Half-Blood food fight.

And when the time finally came for her to go home, she just. . . sort of decided to stay. For as long as she could anyways, until her mother hightailed down there to get her daughter back. She didn't let anybody refer to her as a year-rounder, she was just staying a little extra time.

_You never came. _

She was having so much fun, she barely realized when a whole school year passed, and before she knew it, summer had come again.

She was claimed right before campers started arriving. Suddenly she was a daughter of Ares. Which, shocked a lot of people, sure, she had the brown hair, and the build, but she didn't act like one. She was loud and naive, sometimes rowdy. She was a demigod. She didn't care, suddenly she had family.

It was that year everything changed.

Clarisse glanced towards the woman in the bed again, scowling, she cracked her knuckles.

Her mother was supposed to come get her, she was supposed to hug Clarisse tightly and tell her never to do anything like that again. She was supposed to go _home_, and have to beg her mom to let her return the following summer.

_What happened? _Clarisse almost spouted out, in a voice so angry and spiteful she would have been happy to recognize herself again. _Did you realize you had a pocketbook full of cash, and no kid to spend it on? Did you forget me that easily? _She _should _have said that out loud, it might have made her feel better.

Clarisse wasn't about to sprout out some crap about how suddenly she realized she wasn't wanted in the world, and the transition from naïve nine-year-old to Daughter of Ares happened overnight. No. That was gradual, a mix of trying to find herself, and following the growing pattern of her hyper and rude siblings, not that she doesn't love them. In fact, out of all the cabins in camp they have the strongest bond. But that might just be from them being the only cabin where over half of the inhabitants are year-rounder's.

Clarisse is _just barely_ the typical bully everyone thinks she is, she would never admit it to anything but her own thoughts, but she doesn't fight because she had a hard childhood and needs to take it out on someone else. She's quite literally the Daughter of War, it was her genes, nature not nurture.

She knows how hard it must have been. Gods, she's twenty, four years older than her mother was when she got pregnant, and Clarisse knows she's not even close to being ready for kids. Maybe that didn't particularly justify some of the crap her mother pulled, but it certainly helped.

She lifts her hand up, only for a second, reaching out to wipe her mother's sweating forehead. Before realizing what she was doing, and hurriedly lowering it.

There was so much she wants to say, so many questions, so much crap that had stuck with her ever since the day she realized she wasn't going back home.

It didn't matter, what she said now, what she did, if she screamed, or walked away. It just – it didn't matter.

If there was one thing, one thing in the entire world her mother did _right_, it was this right here, the ability to walk away when she knew if she didn't - the recoil would bite her back ten times worse.

So she goes with a simple, "Goodbye." Because, really, that's all she needs.

Clarisse leaves after a small sigh and another glance backwards. She moves down the hospital hall briskly, still trying to keep up the sad facade that she was anything but confident. Because, wasn't that what she was supposed to be doing?

Damn that straight line.

* * *

**Hello, again!**

**So the prompt for this round was to write a departing piece of two or more characters and then a reunion piece, I wrote two chapters. **

**And this first chapter was the toughest thing I think I've ever written, who knew Clarisse was such a hard character to write? I honestly switched it around five times, and unfortunately I still believe she's OOC:( Oh well.**

**So I hope this was what you guys were looking for, and you like it:D **

**Reviews are wonderful, and read multiple times! **

**-Ash**


	2. Trophy Child

**Disclaimer: **I don't own PJO, and I'm not making any money for this.

**#2**

**Trophy Child**

**Chapter Summary: **She would always have his respect, just . . . never his love.

Clarisse doubted a lot of things in life, none of which she felt like listing off at the moment. However, somewhere in that list, she highly doubted the dead really cared if they were dressed in pretty dresses or expensive suits, just because their families thought it was important they look nice for being shoved into a wooden coffin, and buried twenty feet below the ground.

Clarisse herself wouldn't mind being buried in her regular torn up jeans, and snarky T-Shirt, because honestly, who really cared? It was where the soul went that mattered.

And while she was on the subject, she never really got the point of funerals. It was as if someone decided, "Hey! We all just lost a loved one, and we're all miserable here! Let's spend a couple thousand on a slab of stone, a Minister, and some outrageously priced wine, and be miserable together!" Or some other little kid bonding crap that she couldn't bring herself to care about quite this moment, in fact she couldn't bring herself to care about anything right now.

For some reason everyone loves the sun, they find it warm and joy-filled. Clarisse was one of those people that preferred an overcast of clouds when it wasn't raining. She knew why, she couldn't stand the blinding light casting down on her when she was trying to train, or lounge around. All the sun meant to her was sweat and exhaustion.

This might be why she hated Phoenix so much. Even in the winter it was always sunny. Gods, after all her years living here with her mother, she should have a permanent tan.

_So, of course the universe would choose today of all day to be sunny and hot. . . _

She almost laughed out loud when she finally realized what she was thinking; which in hindsight, was probably not the brightest idea considering where she was located. She was in freakin' Phoenix, in the middle of summer!

Also, what was she doing thinking about the weather during her mother's funeral? Oh, that's right, because her shirt was sticking to her like a second skin, and the ministers voice sounded like a tortured human who had finally given up on life. Plus, she had ADHD, what did people expect?

Clarisse was startled out of her musings by sudden music playing that signaled the end of the service. She watched sullenly as the few people around her got up and started moving around, maybe a half dozen mourners in all. Two must be her mom's work friends, considering their button down blouses, and pencil skirts. The woman in the corner with the cigarette in her hand, her wispy blond locks pulled into a messy bun, and bored demeanor, must have been a drinking buddy. And finally, the older man in the corner whom Clarisse didn't know, he was currently wiping tears from his eyes.

At that moment she had every intention of grabbing a cab back to her hotel, and catching the first flight back to New York, but as she stood up from the ill placed lawn chair and stretched, the older man started walking towards her.

She regarded him slowly, trying unsuccessfully to figure out who he could be. From his extremely neat and expensive tux, she thought he might have been one of her mother's many rich boyfriends, but Mrs. La Rue was a gorgeous woman, and still quiet young. She could have almost any guy she wanted, and considering this man's grey hair, and the wrinkles on his face, she highly doubted he was really her mother's type.

"Excuse me," he called out. Moving towards her to the best of his ability considering he was limping on a cane. It was actually kind of amusing to watch. "You are Clarisse La Rue, am I correct?"

"Yes." Clarisse drawled. "Who're you?"

"I'm pleased to meet you finally, I'm your mother's boss. Henry Parker." He extended his boney hand, and she took it carefully. The pencil-skirts lined up next to him, a scrawny redhead, with sharp features and a sympathetic face, and a big-boned brunette who was staring at Clarisse as if she didn't quite know what to think.

"We're all very sorry for your loss." The sympathetic redhead said, despite the fact that she was the one who appeared to need a hug.

Clarisse had always wondered if anyone really meant those words when they said them, or what the significance was in the first place. Why apologize if it wasn't even their fault? Even so, she grumbled out a small thanks, in her head counting down the minutes she would have to stand here and talk to them.

Henry raised his eyebrows slightly at her nonchalance, and spoke again, "Listen, Clarisse. The girls and I were going to get some lunch, and talk over all our wonderful memories of your mother."

It was Clarisse's turn to raise her eyebrows at this, she wasn't sure what 'wonderful memories of your mother' they had, but she was so not interested.

"We were wondering if you would like to join us." He said it somewhat halfheartedly as if he could read her answer in her face.

"Actually, I figured I would do that myself." The work chumps turned to see who was interrupting. Clarisse could recognize that voice anywhere, cold, emotionless, battle-hungry. It belonged to the only person in the world who would show up to a funeral wearing an iron padlock around his neck, a leather jacket, and combat boots. Hey, at least the boots and jacket were black.

She hadn't seen him in at least two years.

"Hello, we worked with Clarisse's mother, I am Henry, and you are..?" Henry asked, his voice shook slightly.

Ares came closer; his very presence almost seemed to burn the grass he walked on. He stared them over, managing to look uncaring and threatening all at once.

"Hello, Father." Clarisse said, her voice becoming strong and respectful.

Henry gave her a slightly horrified expression, and she didn't bother to listen to his excuse as the three quickly hightailed out of the graveyard towards their cars.

*)*)*)*)*)*)*)

Clarisse fingers ghosted over the coffee placed in front of her. She glared at the steam erupting from the offending mug, as if it had pissed her off in some way. She could barely remember ordering it from the auburn-haired barista that had nervously taken their order, looking at her father warily, as if he would suddenly jump up with a knife and try to slit her throat. A completely understandable reaction.

If she was in a bit better mood, she would have found it strange that with all the nice little lunch restaurants, her dad chose to take her to an internet café. Then again, she supposed she should just be grateful they weren't at the sleazy bar across the street.

Her hands were sweating profusely, she couldn't tell if it was because of the heat, or being so near her father in such a calm place. She found herself glancing towards the window, or down towards the table. Anything to avoid his face.

Eventually, she had to look up.

Ares was staring down at her, he seemed to be trying to look non-threatening, maybe even fatherly. It wasn't working. She had spent most of her life scared spitless in his presence, even if she had tried to cover it up with bravado.

"You know," Ares began, unable to help herself she sat up a little straighter. "This is where I met your mother, right over there, back when this place used to be a bar." He pointed towards one of the tables sitting in the far corner of the café.

Clarisse almost snorted, it was like 'How I Met Your Mother' if Ted Mosby had just told the kids straight off the bat where he'd met their mother, instead of dragging it through however many seasons the producers could scope through before fans got bored.

He seemed a little put off by her lack of response, but he continued. She kind of wished he wouldn't. "Her butt did this adorable wiggly thing when she leaned over the pool table." _And that _is how you can ruin a pleasant Father-Daughter chat.

It was ridiculous, kind of creepy, and nothing she wanted to hear. Clarisse couldn't help herself, she laughed. And it might sound crazy, and so unlike him, but the corners of Ares mouth upturned just a little bit, before hurriedly resuming their usual pursing.

"So how'd you get her attention?" Clarisse asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

The tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheeks, as if he was considering telling her the truth. Making up his mind he finally spoke. "I didn't, really. I was just hiding out here from Aphrodite after a small fight – didn't want to deal with her. None of your concern. Anyways, I was just looking for a drink, not a conquest. Now -"

He was cut off as a different waitress, blond, brought them their cheeseburgers, smiling politely, clearly not put off by Ares punk-like appearance. To Clarisse's surprise, Ares just grinned at her and said, "Thanks, Doll, is it hot in here or is it just you?" She raised an eyebrow at him, lifting her shoulder as if considering his words before sauntering off.

He snorted, smug, as he watched her walk away. Turning back towards his baffled daughter, he shrugged. "One day when you're older you'll understand."

". . . I'm twenty." _And you are hitting on chicks my age, right in front of me, it's a little creepy._

He took a huge bite of his burger, and said, "You're twenty already? Well then get with the program, Clarisse. Don't you have a boyfriend?"

Clarisse cringed somewhat. "I meant the nineteen- I don't know- forties? Line. "

Ares took another bite of his burger, despite not swallowing the first one. "Oh, right. Well it shows her a different side of me. The element of surprise." All that was missing was a sly upturning of the eyebrows, and Barney Stinson would have an older, stronger, scarier twin.

He didn't appear to have any interest in explaining more, and she honestly didn't care to hear it.

"Where were we? Oh, yes. Your mother." Another bite. "So, I came here a few more times, nice bar, good music, hot babes, what more could a guy ask for? Well, she was here often with her friends, underage drinking, and the like. "

"That sounds like mom," I mumbled.

"Naturally, I got her attention. Her friends didn't like it, her talking to me. Told her to stay away." He laughed, "Well, they were right."

"So what happened? Did you rape her?"

To her surprise he looked somewhat affronted. "Rape her? What kind of man –" He snorted when he realized what he was about to say. He was after all, the war god, and saying he was a conceited ass that would do anything to get what he wanted would be just like saying his red wraparound sunglasses were very 80's. Both true, and possibly fatal.

He sighed, his mood sobered instantly. "Look, Clarisse. She was a smart woman, she knew what she was getting into the day she came over and started chatting with me. I liked her; she was fun to hang around, a party person if there ever was one."

Something in Clarisse cracked. "Yeah, great party girl. You know when I was eight I outgrew almost all of my clothes. So she gave me some of her hand-me-downs." She resumed glaring at her coffee cup again. "Let's just say the principal frowned on second graders dressed in a cocktail dress with three-inch heels." The words came out a lot harsher than she meant.

For a second she thought Ares was going to hit her, or tell her to get over it. She wasn't at all astounded when he sighed, and with another bite of his burger, a curse she didn't quite make out and a, ". . . happens." It wasn't very hard to figure out what he said. "You know, I wasn't the only one with my eyes on her."

Clarisse leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed.

"Apollo, he had a crush on her. I don't know why, something about her beautiful piano playing." Ares leaned across the table, finished with his own food and now picking at her fries. "Of course, once I had her attention, I was able to keep it." Ares grinned. "He didn't like it, me moving in on his girl. But it didn't matter by then, she was already mine."

The funny thing is - Clarisse would have preferred Apollo as a _parent_ any day, even if she hated his kids. Because some of the Greek Gods were those type of parents, the type who would wait until the girl or boy was legal and able bodied to handle a kid. _Their _kid. She only knew of Hephaestus right off the bat. But there was _one_ huge gaping difference between Ares and Apollo, and that being their patience. Ares wants what he wants and he wants it _now_. Apollo would have waited just a few more years until her mother was legal and could have handled the responsibility of a child.

The difference was as simple as night and day. The Apollo children come to camp with sunny smiles on their faces, knowing their place in life, knowing how to talk to people and make friends. The Ares children however, hell, they come from a whole string of matters. One of her brothers was raised by a street hooker, she knew Sherman's mother was a drug dealer. Not all of them are that unlucky, maybe not particularly well off, but still . . . Most of them come to camp wondering if they're anymore than a sack of donuts to their parents, and most dealt with awkward social situations by doing what they do best - fighting.

Don't get her wrong, she loved and respected her father a great deal. There were just times when she wished he didn't act like her high school coach.

His mood changed in a futile attempt to justify his words. "Just think about it! You could have been Apollo's little twit, a nobody. But nope, you're my drakon slayer." Grabbing a few more of her fries, pulling himself out of the booth. "Now, I have to go do some God of War stuff. So I'll just tell you this, you have my blessing, and you've got my respect, kiddo!" And almost in afterthought. _"Too bad about your mom."_ With that, he slapped some money on the table, with one final wink to the waitress. He clapped Clarisse on the back rather painfully and with a sneer - or a pathetic excuse for a smile – vanished from the café.

_Congratulations, Father. __You just managed to treat both my mom and I like a prize in the span of a few short sentences._ She didn't dare say those words out loud, he might have left, but he was still a god.

His final words should have put her on cloud nine, she should have been overjoyed. His respect - which was all she'd wanted since the age of nine when she picked up her first spear and vowed she would make him proud, had been granted. Sure, his words on Olympus that final day of the battle had edged on that subject, but he never said them out loud.

She thought his admiration would bring recognition for the one thing she truly was – his daughter.

She never wanted to be a trophy.

Is that was all she would ever be? A trophy of Ares, to be put on his shelf, clean and polished, something he would show off for a few years until she became terribly dull and he decided to find something shinier and better.

She'd worked all her life to gain his respect and honor, but . . . how could she have forgotten love in that equation?

This time she glared past her coffee mug, onto the large streaks of light the sun was making against her table. The sun, so clean, so bright, and beautiful, it knows it's place on this earth and doesn't question it. The straight line of the world. It's everything she's not.

She really does hate that damn line.

* * *

**I actually wrote this one first, so if it doesn't tie in particularly well, that's my bad. **

**I also happen to like this chapter a bit more. Besides the struggling with Ares and Clarisse's interaction I think I did well. **

**As always reviews are loved:D**

**-Ash**


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